Monkeychapps.com

The Internet’s secret shame

I was talking with a friend the other day about how rude and angry some people can be. I told him that I had worked in customer service for a few years and had my life threatened and asked to step outside more than a few times. My response was usually the same, very polite and then I’d inform them I can’t meet them outside as I was still at work but I get off at 6. That usually worked, usually.

One guy walked in, started yelling as he threw his phone at me. Bla bla my phone don’t work. Bla bla you sold me a piece of crap. I let him go on for 20 minutes then picked up the phone and powered it on. I told him he had to hold the power button on for 2 seconds not just jab at it then cuss allot. He seemed embarrassed and complained how his service was so bad just to justify his tirade. He asked to use the restroom and I showed him the way then went back out to the floor as we were busy that day.

About 15 minutes later I heard my manager yell. I ran to the hullabaloo and saw him peering into the bathroom. Did someone slip and fall ? Why wasn’t he helping? I looked in the bathroom to see a huge steaming turd in the middle of floor. What maniac would do this? Did someone miss the potty by 5 feet? No, this was a revenge turd.

I was angry, disgusted and dare I say impressed. This guy was so mad that he summoned this demon from the netherworld and crouched in the middle of the room to let loose. He then walked out of the front door as if nothing happened. I cant imagine being so mad that I would just make #2 on the floor. I think the American Psychological Association has named this illness, Anger Pooping.

Anyways I hope that guy feels better and that ATT will charge him for the Bio-hazard team that we had to hire to clean up his chocolate rage.

Why Monkee, you are such a hater!

Damn straight baby.

Let me break it down for you.

I believe Canada is the Aqua Man in the justice league of North America. The Duplo block in a world full of Lego’s.

Worthless!

You may ask why I say this, consider the following.

1. Half of them speak French! That alone is enough to hate the whole of the country.

2. They have added nothing to world culture, except for the wearing of black socks and sandals.

3. They have a political system just this side of communism.

4. During the Viet Nam war they opened their arms to our hippies and draft dodgers.

5. I have heard that they eat puppies and fart on our flag.

When I lived in Boise ,a few years ago, I got wind that they were planning a week long party celebrating the 25th anniversary of the draft dodger and the influx of dirty hippies into their country. Then I saw a report on the mass exodus of some 8000 middle-aged hippies that wanted to relive the time that they sat in Canada, smoked pot and talked about “The Man” whilst their neighbors were in south  east Asia fighting.

I could not let this lie, not when I was a scant few hundred miles from this twisted fiesta. I made a few phone calls and hit the road.

I sat, just few hundred miles north of the Canadian border, in my rented ice cream truck. I saw my comrades huddled of in the distance awaiting the signal. I waited until the hippies were nice and stoned, and in the middle of there dirt bag bacchanalia.

The fireworks started.

Literally!

I cranked the speakers on the ice cream truck and played a few tracks from “Apocalypse Now” intermingled with a little “Full Metal Jacket” as I shot fireworks at them. As this was going on the local theater troop that I had hired ran through the crowd wearing black pajamas and sampan hats yelling “di di mau”.

This had the desired effect and dare I say it must been the “Brown noise” to all hippies because all of the strawberry kush and petrulli oil in the world couldn’t cover the smell of 8000 thousand dirty hippies crapping their pants in unison.

Looking back I feel some remorse for what I did. I felt a twinge of guilt on my drive back to Boise. The guilt subsided as the thought of warmer temperatures, normal footwear and how great the USA is wafted into my head.

Every now and then I hear the Canadian national anthem and the thought of soiled underwear and  petrulli oil make me smile.

Rock on you dirty hippy bastards.